James Bond: And the Hacker Ran Away with the Agent
by IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: [Formerly titled "00Q Drabble"] James Bond and Alec Trevelyan were once MI6 agents, but went rogue a few years ago. James was captured and held for all of three days before escaping, and when Alec meets up with him he finds that James brought back a souvenir. See warnings inside.
1. Chapter One

**Pairing:** James Bond/Q

**Warnings: **Possibly explicit sexual content, explicit language, and graphic depictions of violence. This will be updated when I know for sure.

**Note: **This is an idea I've had for a while, and I just wanted to write a drabble. So here we are :)

**Note #2 [09/06/14]: **Once a drabble, now a multi-chapter

**Disclaimer: **James Bond belongs to Ian Fleming. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

* * *

**Chapter One**

'Oh _really_, James, _really_?' Alec near-shouted when he walked into the hotel to find not just James, but a twink sitting on the bed. Said twink blushed slightly but sat up straight, chin held high, proud even when faced with a rather large rogue MI6 agent carrying multiple weapons.

'What?' James blinked, blue eyes wide and innocent. Which worked on the one-nighters James brought back all the time, but not on Alec. He'd known James too damn long.

'Did you _have _to pick someone up when escaping MI6?' Alec asked.

James raised an eyebrow. 'And what if he was just some guy I picked up, and you went and spilled all our secrets?'

Alec snorted and said, 'Seeing as how there are stolen, top secret documents everywhere, as well as a multitude of weapons, I'm assuming that you nicked this one from Her Majesty herself.'

James tilted his head, looked at Q, and then looked back at Alec. 'Yeah, alright; I did,' he finally admitted.

Alec sighed and dumped his bags by the door before walking closer. The boy- and really, he looked barely out of his teens- kept his eyes on Alec. The blonde paused just before him. And stared.

James' eyes were back on the documents he was reading over, and he didn't look up as he said, 'Eyes off, Alec. This one's all mine.'

'Gonna keep him, are you?' Alec questioned. 'He needs to be walked twice a day and fed _at least_-'

'I'm not a dog,' the boy interrupted. And dear God, his voice made him sound like he was eighteen, _maybe _nineteen. 'Nor am I deaf,' the boy added.

'Right,' Alec hummed, 'I really don't care.' The boy scowled. 'So come on, let's hear it,' Alec clapped his hands together. 'Who are you, where exactly in MI6 did you come from, and what did James do to convince you to run off into the sunset with him?'

James snorted. 'I didn't convince him, actually. He's the one who broke me out.'

'Really?' Alec asked. James nodded. 'Well, who are you?' he asked again.

The boy hesitated, his eyes briefly darting to James before fixing back on Alec. Finally, he said, 'You can call me Q.'

Alec stared a bit. Shifted on his feet. Stared a bit more. James counted. _Five, four, three, two_-

'You stole the _Quartermaster_?!'

James chuckled.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two  
**

* * *

_**Three days earlier**_

* * *

If M was trying to keep this a secret, she'd failed rather miserably. Everybody, from Moneypenny right down to the guy who refilled the coffee machine in the cafeteria, knew that the former 007, the infamous James Bond, had been caught several hours ago and detained in an MI6 holding cell.

Q would never deny that he was curious. He'd practically grown up at MI6 hearing about the former legend, the man who could do _anything _and seemingly escape death time and time again; the man who had seemed so loyal to M and Britain, only to defect and disappear with a fellow double-oh.

Q was sitting in his office, tapping his stylus against the mess that he called his desk. He usually kept it in order, but he'd been up and running for over 24 hours now, and had more important things to focus on then the clutter of paperwork, tablets, and pens. Who used paper anymore, anyway? M knew that Q detested it, yet every other department sent him thick clumps of _paper_. What a waste.

He was brought out of his musings when a few Q-Branch techs raced past his office, all suddenly dropping whatever they were screwing around with in favour of sitting at their desks, or standing before the projects that they were supposed to be working on. Q was puzzled for all of four seconds before M herself strode into the large underground room.

She bypassed everybody, not looking aside, and made her way to Q's office. Q didn't both sitting straight, or fixing his desk/hair/clothing. M knew what he was like, and if she wanted him to act any differently she could go to hell.

'Q,' she greeted when she stepped into the office.

'M,' he responded. She was holding a black box, about the size of your average shoe box, and Q tilted his head. 'Is that for me?'

'Yes,' she said, not beating around the bush. Hmm, must be important. 'This is everything that we found on James Bond when we brought him in.'

_That _made Q sit up, and he had to stop himself from making grabby hands and trying to rip the contents from her fingers. Instead he took a breath and watched as M quirked an eyebrow before crossing the distance between them. She set the box down and removed the lid.

Inside was a belt, a smartphone, a set of cuff-links, and what looked like a bottle of nail varnish. Interesting.

'I need you to scan all of this and see if you can find something that security couldn't,' M ordered.

'And the mobile?' Q asked.

'Won't turn on, no matter what we tried,' M relayed. 'We didn't want to try any further in case...'

She trailed off, but Q understood; in case it was a bomb. Or poisonous gas. Or whatever the hell else rogue double-ohs carried on their person.

'Understood,' Q nodded. He hesitated, eyes uncertain on the box, and M raised her white eyebrows.

'A problem?' she asked.

'Can I see him?' Q asked. He knew as soon as the words were out of his mouth that M would say no. Stupid, _stupid_. Of _course _M wouldn't let the Quartermaster have face time with a rogue, dangerous double-oh. Especially not this Quartermaster. It might give him _ideas_.

'No,' M said, like he knew she would. 'Just get to work, Q.'

And with that she was gone, sweeping out of his office and out of Q-Branch, like she had better things to do. Perhaps she did, Q mused as he reached into the box for the contents. She had a former friend to interrogate.

'You are _gorgeous_,' Q breathed as he looked over the mobile. It was an old design, about three years out of date, but Q could tell that it was different. It was too bulky, the casing too hard. 'What secrets are you hiding?' he murmured and switched the tabs on his computer.

{oOo}

'I already said no, Q,' M stated.

Q ran a frustrated hand through his hair. 'You don't seem to understand what I'm saying,' he said with barely contained anger. 'We _can _get into the phone, but there's a problem.'

'And that would be?' M asked.

'There's a virus installed on the phone's memory; some of the best coding I've ever glimpsed.'

'Glimpsed?' M interrupted, and Q nodded.

'Yes, _glimpsed_. Because I can't unlock the phone without setting off the virus, which would destroy everything saved on the phone, as well as the phone itself. If I had the password, I could bypass activating it. _Then _I could study the virus, or my techs could. We can find the coding and work out how to counteract it. Because this?'

He brandished the phone at her. M didn't look amused.

'This is an old phone, M,' Q continued, 'but the coding's been on it since Bond got it. Whoever programmed it probably gave him the phone. That means that there's someone out there selling highly protected devices to rogue agents and anyone else who has a problem with Britain. And we can't stop it.'

M was silent for a few seconds, red nails tapping slowly at her smooth, polished desk. 'You're telling me that you can't hack the phone yourself?' she demanded.

Q scowled at the prod at his skills, but ignored it. 'I could in two or three weeks,' he admitted. 'But if Bond gives me the password I can start studying it today.'

'Q-'

'What have we got to lose?' Q demanded. 'If he says no, then I hack into it myself. If he says yes, we save ourselves three weeks.'

M sighed almost noiselessly, her eyes roaming over Q's face slowly. Q tried to keep himself a mask of professionalism. Yes, he _did _want to find out how the virus worked, where Bond had gotten it, etc. But a larger part of him just wanted to _meet _the man. He'd looked 007 up in the past and found him fascinating. He wanted to speak with him, perhaps learn something, figure out _how _the man had gotten out of MI6.

'Fine,' M finally said. Q had to stop himself from doing a dance. 'But listen to me carefully,' she continued, making Q stand completely still. 'Your conversation will be monitored,' M stated, 'and under no circumstances are you to discuss anything that could put this organisation in danger, do you understand?'

'Of course,' Q said through gritted teeth. It was like she didn't _trust _him. Q wouldn't.

'If you discuss something that I dislike, we will be having words,' M said, her blue eyes sharp. 'Is that understood, Quartermaster?'

Q bowed slightly. 'Yes, ma'am.'

She nodded after another beat of silence, and Q knew that he was dismissed. He walked stiffly out of her office, and didn't offer Moneypenny his usual small smile. He was too focused on what she'd said, and what he would say to 007.

It seemed that M still didn't trust Q, which was understandable. Four years wasn't enough time to completely wipe out what Q had once been. Q was sure that those feelings, that mind-set, would never actually leave him. M seemed to hope that it would; that, one day, Q would be the good little programmer that she told the British government he was.

It wouldn't happen, Q thought as he entered the elevator, watching the silver doors slide shut before him. Q had been part of MI6 for four years. He'd been a criminal for nine.

{oOo}

James Bond was being kept in one of the lowest parts of MI6, only storage and weapons kept on the floors below his. Q-Branch was at the other end of the building, as was the doors that led to the underground garage. Q wondered if it was a good idea, keeping a man well known for his daring feats of escape near the exit.

But it wasn't his problem. Q twirled the mobile phone in his fingers as he was escorted down the brightly lit, concrete hallway. He had to pass through two security checks, his credentials looked over, his pockets and person searched, as though they didn't _know _who he was. Q had to ponder if M had added the extra checks just because it was him.

No matter. Q's heart beat slightly faster in his chest when he finally entered the main room. It was rectangular, a bare concrete wall on one side, glass-fronted cells on the other. There were only six, with a stainless steel table bolted to the floor before each one. Q passed all of them, two security guards either side of him, before they came to the very end.

Q had already noted the mistakes M had made. They should have put Bond in the middle, or at the very front. Q knew from hacking the CCTV cameras that there was a blind spot it you stood in the very front corner of Bond's cell, where the glass connected with the wall. The microphones also didn't quite reach that far, if you spoke quietly enough.

While Q had been thinking, the guards had finally left him alone just beside the table bolted before Bond's cell. They'd gone back to the door, sitting either side of it on chairs that had also been bolted to the floor. Their jobs must be so _boring_, Q mused before turning to face the cell.

It was blindingly white, the walls, floor, and ceiling all painted the same bright shade. There was a bunk bolted to the wall and floor to the right, a small stainless steel sink and toilet to the left. Other than that, nothing. Air holes had been drilled into the glass before Q, and the reinforced glass door had a small flap cut into the bottom to allow food to be pushed through. A small card-reader was stuck to the door, lights currently red.

Bond himself was sitting on the bunk, back pressed to the wall, facing the room at large. He was wearing grey trousers and a matching shirt with a serial number stencilled on the right breast.

Q had seen pictures of Bond, of course, but it was nothing like seeing the man in person. For one thing, Bond was four years older, had fresh scars on his neck and hands, his wrinkles a little deeper, eyes a little different. He was broader, taller than Q would have thought, with dark blonde hair cut short and bright, bright blue eyes. His face was also covered in stubble, grey mixed in with the blonde, and Q wondered if he'd go grey prematurely due to his occupation.

Bond was handsome, Q supposed. He had a strong jaw, pretty eyes, and hair that would look good styled. Q also knew that Bond looked _really _good in a suit. His ears were a bit wonky, though.

'Hello,' Bond broke the silence first.

Q took a soft breath and sat on the table; there were no chairs. 'Hello,' he echoed.

Bond tilted his head. 'I was told that the Quartermaster wanted to talk to me.'

Q stiffened, eyes narrowing. 'I am the Quartermaster.'

Bond barked out a laugh before saying, 'You _must _be joking.'

'Why, because I'm not wearing a lab coat?' Q demanded.

'Because you've still got spots,' Bond retorted.

'I don't have spots!' Q snapped, hand twitching to come up and touch his face. He was still in his twenties, okay? It was perfectly normal to still get a pimple or two, and the cold weather wreaked havoc on his skin.

Bond chuckled softly, and Q internally cursed him. Damn it, the man was _attractive_. Why did Q always have to go for the bad boys? And Bond was a _little _more dangerous than a teenager in a leather coat with a motorbike.

'Okay,' Bond said, breaking the silence once more, 'so you're the Quartermaster. Where did M find you?'

'That's not important.'

'I think it is.'

'Why?'

Bond stood suddenly, long legs unfolding beneath him. His feet were bare, and Q could see the scars across his toes, the tops of his feet, as though someone had sliced into them for _weeks_. He swallowed thickly and looked away.

Bond walked across the small cell until he could lean against both the white wall and the glass, legs crossed at the ankles and arms folded over his broad chest. Q's heartbeat quickened once more. Did Bond know that that was the one spot that the cameras and microphones had trouble picking up?

'Where did M find you?' he asked again, voice soft.

'I'm not here to discuss myself, 007,' Q replied.

'007?' Bond echoed. 'I haven't been called that in a while.'

'007 and 006 were never re-assigned,' Q told him. 'You defected, you weren't killed in action. The first few new double-ohs refused the call-signs, and eventually M gave up.'

'Interesting,' Bond hummed. 'Anyway-'

'This phone,' Q interrupted. He held it up, and watched recognition flood Bond's eyes, followed by satisfaction.

'Let me guess,' the older man said, 'you can't get into it?'

'I could, given enough time,' Q replied.

'How long?' Bond asked.

'Between two and three weeks, depending on how little sleep I get and how many meals I skip.'

Bond whistled, 'Impressive.' He then looked Q up and down, eyes narrowed and calculating. 'You shouldn't skip meals.'

'Why not?'

'You're skinny enough as it is.'

Great, just what Q needed; someone else worrying about his weight. Moneypenny cared because she was a sort-of-friend. M cared because she had no use for an anaemic Quartermaster. Medical cared because they thought that it was Q's way of "rebelling" and "lashing out". Load of shit.

'The mobile,' Q decided to move on, 'I need the password.'

'Why?' Bond asked.

'Because I thought I'd be nice and ask,' Q retorted, making the blonde chuckle again. 'If you tell me it saves me two weeks of work. If not, I'll get into it anyway.'

'Eventually,' Bond said.

'Yes, eventually,' Q agreed.

'Mm,' Bond hummed. 'Tell me, why is my mobile so important to you?'

'Because it's clearly important to you,' Q responded.

'How so?' Bond asked.

'You didn't get rid of it,' Q said. He rolled the phone over in his fingers, the black of the case a stark contrast to his pale fingers. 'You had ample opportunity to do so. I read the reports of how you were captured. You managed to evade the agents sent after you for six hours. You were invisible for four of those hours. You could have dropped the mobile anywhere, but you didn't; you held onto it. Which tells me that it must have _something _on it that's important to you.'

'And that means that it's important to MI6?' Bond questioned.

'Negative,' Q said with a head shake. 'It could just have pictures of your favourite stripper for all I know.'

Bond snorted. 'Yet all this drama, all this effort, just to find out what?'

'I'm curious,' Q shrugged a shoulder. 'And I want to study the virus that was installed three years ago.'

Bond ran his eyes over Q again, but this time there was more to it than blatant amusement. 'You're clever,' he finally said.

'Of course I am,' Q responded, 'I'm the Quartermaster.'

'No,' Bond shook his head, 'no, you're intelligent, I got that. Otherwise M wouldn't have assigned you as Quartermaster. No, you're _clever _in a way that none of the other techs are. At least, not the techs that I worked with at MI6. You think outside the box. _You _think like an agent.' He paused, watched as Q squirmed ever so slightly. 'You think like a criminal.'

If Q were less of a man, he'd have run right then. Instead he simply raised an eyebrow and held Bond's eyes with his own. It seemed to be what Bond was looking for, but it still surprised the man. His lips twitched upward, and he shuffled back ever so slightly.

Suddenly Bond stood and went back to the bunk, re-taking the position he'd been in when Q had first entered. '22365-dash-alpha-LJT-question mark-KK4,' Bond stated. He quirked an eyebrow. 'Do you need me to repeat it?'

'I have an eidetic memory,' Q responded and slid from the desk.

Bond chuckled. 'Good evening, Q,' he said.

'Bond,' Q responded. It wasn't until he was back in his office, after having been thoroughly searched again, that he wondered how Bond had known that it was evening. And why it was that the ex-agent hadn't called him "Q" until Q was leaving.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I think I should point out that Skyfall didn't happen in this story. I just couldn't be bothered trying to figure out how it _did _happen without Bond there. Also, yes. I have continued it. Bravo. The words "drabble" and "one-shot" are not in my muse's vocabulary. Which means that I'll have to change the title at some point. Maybe. If you have any ideas, let me know.

Cheers,

{Dreamer}


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

* * *

**Warnings: **Past drug addiction/use

* * *

_**Two days earlier**_

_Harrison fidgeted. He couldn't help it; he'd always been a twitcher. And currently there was nothing to play with, apart from the short silver chain that linked the cuffs around his wrists to the steel table before him. He tapped at the table rapidly as he waited, eyes wandering from the grey-washed walls, to the pale green door, and then to the mirror opposite him that reflected his image back._

_His hair was too long, almost reaching his shoulders now, his glasses still cracked from where he'd been slammed into a brick wall. There was a gash on his right cheek, a bruise and peeled skin on his left cheekbone. He was tired, evident from the dark shadows under his eyes, and his clothing was dirty, torn, from his flight through London._

_Finally, the door open, and Harrison twitched only slightly. He was quite proud of himself, but still nervous as hell. He was used to pain, and hunger, and thirst, but he knew what MI6 was capable of. It wasn't like he had anything important to tell them, but that didn't mean that they wouldn't make him bleed, just in case._

_M entered the room, followed by what appeared to be a young Q-Branch technician, and an agent whom Harrison assumed was there for security. As though Harrison could cause any damage. He was skilled in the art of self-defence, more than these people realised, but against three people, one of whom was a highly-trained agent? He had no hope._

_M took the seat opposite him, and the young tech sat to the side, opening a laptop and sitting it on the desk-top. Harrison's fingers twitched to reach out, to touch, to type away and ignore what was currently happening._

_'Please state your name for the record,' M ordered. And it _was _an order; as though Harrison were one of her little minions._

_'Haven't figured that out yet?' he replied._

Always a smart-arse, Harrison. A cocky little bitch. We'll show you what we do to bitches.

_He flinched under the weight of his own thoughts, and M noticed._

_'Not yet,' M conceded. 'But we will, in time. You can save yourself some trouble and tell us what we want to know.'_

_Harrison fidgeted. 'What's in it for me?'_

_M paused only briefly before reaching into her expensive suit jacket. She pulled out a thin, brown leather case, one that was as familiar to Harrison as the back of his own hand. He closed his eyes slowly, and when he opened them M had laid the case out, opened it to show the row of needles._

_'It's fascinating, how many intelligent men and women fall prey to this type of thing,' M said, gesturing at the needles._

_'So, what, this is a morality lesson?' Harrison demanded. He was practically bouncing in his seat, the last of his self-control being tested. His right leg was going wild beneath the table, and his fingers were curled into fists, no doubt bruising the soft skin of his palm. 'Or, I tell you what you want to know, and you let me shoot up?'_

_'No,' M said and rolled the case back up. Maybe she sensed that Harrison could barely focus when his drug of choice was right there, just waiting to be mixed and inserted into his bruised skin. She tucked the case away and Harrison relaxed slightly. 'Tell us what we want to know and you won't spend the rest of your life in a maximum security prison.'_

_'Doesn't sound too bad,' Harrison shrugged. 'I'd be in solitary confinement, right? Face as pretty as mine, I'd be able to convince anyone to do what I wanted. Can't let me too close to a keycard, I'm slippery like that. Could probably steal one and execute a perfect break out.'_

_'You've done it before,' M noted._

_'Have I?' Harrison countered._

_'We know that you spent some time in juvenile detention,' M stated. 'We know where, but your files disappeared; both the hard copies and the digital ones.'_

_'I'm good like that,' Harrison grunted. He squeezed his eyes shut and started tapping the table again. He'd been in here for, what, two days? Three? The longest he'd been sober since he'd started using was four and a half days. Harrison had been using more since then, though. He needed a bigger dose._

_'Tell us what we want to know and you'll have a future,' M said. 'You're only nineteen. A few years on probation and you'll have your life back.'_

_'My life?' Harrison laughed._

_'A better life,' M said._

_'Right,' Harrison snorted. He wasn't an idiot. His probation, if he took this deal, would never end. Oh, M might _say _that it had ended, but it wouldn't. He'd be constantly scrutinised, his work good _for a criminal_. He'd never be one of them, because Harrison had already shown that he didn't care about the safety of Britain. He wasn't MI6, not like the tech sitting at his side was. He was his own man, a criminal, a hacker who did whatever he could for cash and his next fix._

_He looked up at M to see her staring at him, waiting, face giving nothing away. _Spies_, Harrison thought with an eye roll. They were all the same, and that's what made them so _easy _to beat. Once you knew their rules, and what they were capable of, it was child's play._

_But... what choice did Harrison have? Either way he'd be forced to get clean, it wasn't like M would hire a drug addict, or supply him in his little cell. Working for MI6, even chained to them, meant that he'd have access to computers, to their network. Harrison was patient. It had taken him twelve months to hack his way out of juvenile hall. If it took him two years, five, _ten_, he'd escape from MI6. He wouldn't stay here, be used by them, be constantly sneered at because of the life choices he'd made._

_He wasn't one of them._

_'Harrison Jaret Brennan,' he finally said._

_M looked sharply at the tech, and the young woman started typing like mad, eyes glued to the screen._

_'You won't find anything about me,' Harrison told them. The tech paused and looked at M, eyes wide. 'I have digital copies of everything relating to my birth and activities since I was six-years-old in my car.'_

_'And where's your car?' M asked._

_Harrison bit his lip before relaying the co-ordinates, and M nodded at the agent standing by the door. He left immediately, the door closing with a soft _click_._

_'Tell me about yourself,' M ordered._

_'My parents, Lucy and Raymond Brennan, died when I was six,' Harrison rattled off, like he was reading from a script. His eyes were dull, trained on the one-way glass. 'Car crash,' he added as an after thought. 'I went into the foster care system. My intelligence wasn't appreciated by the kids I housed with, or by the foster parents. I ran when I was ten.'_

_He paused, and M said an annoyed, '_And_?'_

_'I learned computers,' Harrison shrugged, 'from a few kids I met on the streets. Stole a few when I could, pawned them when I started using. I found that I could steal money from corporate bank accounts if I was careful. I did that for years, but I got bored.'_

_'Bored,' M echoed. She frowned, eyes hard when Harrison met them. 'Why did you hack into MI6?' she demanded. 'We never would have known you existed if you hadn't.'_

_Harrison gave her a sharp smile, one that reminded M that she was dealing with a highly sophisticated, highly intelligent, _extremely _dangerous young man._

_'I was bored,' he stated-_

- Q gasped as he woke, sitting up straight and almost braining himself on his lamp. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, then shook his head, trying to dispel the remnants of his dream. No, _memory_. He hadn't dreamt about his first conversation with M in over a year.

Q frowned and turned to his computer, the screen awakening as soon as he started typing. He easily pulled up the footage of Bond's cell, bypassing all the measures that security had implemented since Bond had been locked away. They wouldn't realise Q was hacking them if he didn't want them to.

Bond was sitting where Q had left him, as though he hadn't moved. But there was now a tray just before his door, half a sandwich and a container of what looked like jelly or something still sitting on the paper plate. Q's frown deepened as he leaned forward, crossing his arms over the junk on his table.

Bond had done this; had brought up things that Q didn't want to remember, not while he was still in MI6's clutches. He didn't want to ever remember the homeless junkie he'd once been. Q had never been ashamed of the illegal hacking he'd done, and never would be. But to remember that he'd been hooked on something so dangerous, something that screwed with his mind, his ability to _think_, was something best forgotten; pushed into the dark recesses of Q's mind where memories of his foster homes resided, never to see the light of day.

Q sighed, rolled his neck, and cracked his fingers and knuckles. Bond's mobile phone sat innocently off to the left, the screen covered in fingerprints, the case scratched from where Q had slammed it against his table. Bond's password had been correct, and Q had gleefully studied the virus before sending it off to the techs who worked under him. He'd been riding a high similar to the one that heroin used to ignite within him, practically drunk on the new numbers and letters now at his finger tips.

He glanced at his computer one last time before exiting the security feed, and wiping any trace that he'd been there away. He quickly hacked into Moneypenny's computer, pulling up M's schedule. She, Tanner and Moneypenny were all absent, attending a gala of some sort.

Good. Q typed for a few more minutes before standing. He left Bond's mobile where it was and exited his office, the door sliding closed with a hiss behind him.

{oOo}

It was far too easy to get into the basement, Q thought. He just hoped that M didn't question the guards personally. He slipped inside and the door shut behind him, the guards going back to their seated positions. Q nodded at them shortly before moving further into the room, not stopping until he was standing before Bond's cell.

Bond appeared to be asleep, so Q just watched him for a bit, eyes roaming over the man's strong features and the prison uniform they'd put him in.

'Hello again.'

Q didn't jolt, just raised an eyebrow until Bond opened his eyes. The blonde offered him a small smile.

'Good evening, 007,' Q replied.

'To what do I owe the pleasure?' Bond asked. He sat up, stretched a bit, before leaning back against the wall. His legs were spread out over the narrow bunk, toes moving from side to side, as though Bond was bored. Q wouldn't be surprised if he was. 'Q?' Bond prompted.

The problem was that Q didn't have an answer. He didn't know _why _he was there. He should have been across the building, in his office, going over the beautiful codes that he'd unlocked in Bond's phone. Instead he was here, staring at a rogue agent, arms folded and hip jutting out ever so slightly.

'Q?' Bond questioned again.

'I don't know,' Q admitted.

'Don't know what?'

Q looked around the room. 'Why I'm here.'

'I see,' Bond hummed. 'Does M know that you're here?'

'No,' Q chuckled lightly. 'I was only given permission to ask you about the password on your phone, not anything else. M doesn't trust me that far.'

'And why not?' Bond asked.

Q smiled and went to sit. But instead of choosing the table, he sat on the floor, back to the wall and one leg pressed to the glass wall of Bond's cell. When he glanced up Bond was looking at him, eyebrows up in surprise. But the man was quick to go with it, standing and joining Q in the only way he could; sitting parallel to him, on the other side of the glass.

'So you don't know why you're here,' Bond said, 'and _I _don't know why you're here. What are we going to do with our time?'

'Talk, I suppose,' Q said. He really had no plan, which was a bit unnerving, he could admit to himself. He _always _had a plan, even if it was a bad one. Now? He was flying blind, so to speak.

Thankfully, it seemed that Bond had a topic to discuss. 'Tell me, Q,' he said, making the younger man glance at him, 'would you break me out of here if I asked?'

Q snorted. 'Why would I answer that?'

'Because I'm assuming that you've put your fancy hacking skills to good use and made us... invisible, to the cameras.'

'Not invisible,' Q corrected. 'They can see us, they just don't know what we're talking about. Bursts of static, muffled voices, etcetera.'

'Then why won't you answer the question?' Q didn't say a word, and Bond smiled. He went back to staring at the wall of his cell, fingers picking at his grey trousers. 'Your answer, Q, would depend on what kind of person you are.' Q raised an eyebrow. 'And there's always three types of people.'

'Are there?' Q asked. 'And what, pray tell, are those types?'

'The first,' Bond stated, 'is the good, patriotic Quartermaster. If you were really who you projected to be, you'd answer no. And no amount of begging, or offers, on my part would change your mind. Because I'm a dangerous criminal, a terrorist and defector by MI6's standards. There's no way in hell you'd let me out.'

Q smiled and glanced down at his own lap, fingers tapping rhythmically against each other.

'The second type of person would be the criminal,' Bond said. 'The one who would ask, "What's in it for me?" You'd name a price, I'd agree, and you'd help me escape.'

Q nodded; he could see Bond's train of thought there. With criminals there was always a price; a certain amount of money that they'd do anything for. He wondered how much breaking an ex-double-oh out of prison was fetching these days.

'The third?' he asked when Bond didn't continue.

'The third,' Bond echoed, 'is a mixture between the two.'

Q laughed. 'The patriotic criminal?'

'If you wish to phrase it that way,' Bond nodded. 'That person would break me out if it benefited him in some way. He has no personal connection to MI6. He doesn't hate it like a terrorist would, like someone with a personal... _beef_, with the organisation. No, he doesn't care about it either way. It isn't an enemy, but it isn't something to be protected by him, either. He has his own, personal price. All I'd have to do is find it, offer it, and he'd break me out.'

'What kind of price would he have?' Q asked, intrigued to see what Bond would say.

'It differs from person to person,' Bond told the younger man. 'Your price?' He glanced at Q, and Q met his gaze, hazel on blue. 'Your price is freedom,' Bond stated, 'and perhaps something else.'

Q quirked an eyebrow as he asked, 'What makes you so sure that I'm the third person?'

'When I asked if you'd break me out, you said, "Why would I answer that?" The good Quartermaster would immediately answer no, as I said. The criminal would be silent, calculating, wondering what amount of money he could get out of me. You did neither of those things. You deflected, let me give a long-winded explanation. Which tells me that you _do _have a personal price, but I haven't guessed it correctly yet.'

Q laughed again and slid back, slouching against the wall, eyes roaming the room again. The security guards were still there, occasionally eyeing Q, but mostly just whiling away the hours of their shifts in their own heads. Q and Bond were speaking too lowly for the guards to overhear their conversation.

'Well?' Bond asked.

'You were right,' Q said, smiling. 'You haven't guessed correctly yet.'

Bond chuckled softly and Q heard him shifting, moving into a different position.

'How are the beds in there?' Q questioned, suddenly curious.

'Why?'

'I'm wondering if they've changed since my stay,' Q admitted.

He heard a short intake of breath, and was satisfied; he'd surprised the double-oh. Bond's view of him clearly didn't include "held in MI6 custody for crimes against the Crown".

'Uncomfortable, but not unbearable,' Bond said after a brief minute of silence.

'Hmm,' Q hummed.

'Why were you held?' Bond asked. 'That doesn't fit in with the good Quartermaster.'

'But it _does _fit in with the criminal and the in-between man,' Q replied.

'True,' Bond said, a smile in his voice. 'But M wouldn't hire a criminal.'

'Wouldn't she?'

'Not one who hated Britain with a passion,' Bond said. 'You forget that I worked with her for years. She was the one who recruited me.'

'She recruited me, too,' Q said.

'When?' Bond asked. 'When I defected the Quartermaster was an old bloke.'

'Geoffrey Boothroyd,' Q said, remembering the man well. He'd been the one who'd sat beside Q when he was finally given a computer again after his detainment. Boothroyd had been an expert in his field; in old-school gadgets. But computers? The stuff that now led the world, and made destruction a few simple key strokes? Boothroyd had been so far behind, he was practically a dinosaur. A ten-year-old could have hacked a computer quicker than Boothroyd could. It was why Q had been brought in, after all, instead of locked up and hidden, forgotten. 'He died,' Q said after a pause, 'a few weeks after you defected.'

'How?' Bond asked.

'A direct attack on MI6 by an agent similar to you,' Q said. 'He was a terrorist, his target MI6 herself.'

'What happened to him?' Bond asked.

'I tracked him and MI6 put him down,' Q said.

'Is that what got you promoted?' Bond asked, and Q laughed loudly.

'God, no,' he shook his head. 'No, M didn't trust me back then. She doesn't now, but back then? I was more than rough around the edges. I was only promoted two years ago.'

'No one else up for the job?'

Q turned to face him and found Bond's eyes already on him. 'Plenty of people capable,' he said, 'but not as capable as me.'

'You must be something special,' Bond said with amusement.

'You have _no _idea,' Q breathed. He watched Bond's eyes darken, and his tongue peek out to wet his chapped lips briefly. So Q hadn't been wrong; Bond _was _attracted to him, at least a little. It made Q's heart skip a beat, but he didn't look into it. Too much was at stake here for Q to throw it away for a passing fling. He didn't even know what he truly wanted, not yet. But a plan was already forming, Q's brain working on it in the background. Q couldn't stop himself if he tried.

'You continue to surprise me, Quartermaster,' Bond stated.

Q smiled and leaned his forehead against the glass, once more shocking Bond. Q didn't doubt that people rarely got close to the double-oh when they knew exactly who, and what, he was. But Q had never had a good sense of self-preservation. He wouldn't have been caught by MI6 if he did.

'Harrison,' he murmured.

'Excuse me?' Bond replied.

'My name is Harrison,' Q said, voice still soft.

'Harrison,' Bond rolled the name over his tongue, and Q bit back a shiver at the soft tone, the way his real name fell from Bond's lips. 'It's nice to meet you, Harrison.'

Q laughed. 'Are you trying to be cute?'

'Is it working?'

Smiling, Q said, 'I'll let you know.'

'Look at me,' Bond suddenly ordered. Q did, and the man repeated, '_Harrison_.'

Q blinked at him.

'You don't respond to that name anymore,' Bond stated, 'how long's it been?'

'Years, now,' Q admitted. 'Far too many years. I was never particularly attached to the name, though.'

'It's still your name,' Bond said.

'The name of a boy long dead,' Q replied.

'So who's sitting before me, if not Harrison?' Bond questioned.

Q shrugged one shoulder. 'Q, I suppose,' he said. 'I am what M made me, and she made me the Quartermaster.'

'A mistake on her part, I think,' Bond said, 'but her mistake is my gain.'

'Is it?'

Bond just smirked, an expression somehow more charming and dangerous than any other smile he'd given Q. Q looked away, breathed out heavily.

'You're leaving,' Bond said; a fact, not a question.

'I shouldn't push my luck,' Q said instead of agreeing. He did stand, though, but Bond made no move to do the same.

'You'll be back,' Bond said with conviction.

'Will I?' Q asked in amusement. He glanced down at the blonde, who was still smirking at him.

'Trust me,' Bond said, 'and next time you'll even have M's permission.'

Bond didn't say anything more after that, but Q didn't need any more words. He didn't know what he'd come down here for, but he felt like he'd gotten it, whatever it was. His head felt clearer than it had in years, but filled with so much new information at the same time. It made little sense, Q knew, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He would no doubt start dissecting his thoughts, his feelings, as soon as he was out of Bond's presence, back in the safety of his office.

Bond was odd, different, _fascinating_, such a bright difference the the dull, grey-washed existence that Q had been living in since he'd first been caught. It was like playing with fire; thrilling, but dangerous.

Again, Q couldn't bring himself to care. It was a liberating feeling.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

* * *

_**One day earlier**_

* * *

Q spun his stylus between his fingers, and pondered briefly if he had the temperament to go have a cigarette. It would calm him down, but he really didn't want to stand or leave his office. The next person to speak to him would get his stylus jammed into their eye, and that was a fast ticket to being confined to MI6 for a month or more.

Q sighed and tapped the table rapidly as he re-read the information that he'd already memorised;

_**Name: **BOND, James_

_**D.O.B: **March 2, 1976 (age 38), Scotland, United Kingdom_

_**Hair: **Dark blonde_

_**Eyes: **Blue_

_**Distinguishing Features: **None_

_**Department: **00-Programme_

_**Designation: **007_

_**Current Status: **Defected_

_**Notes: **Highly skilled marksman; highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat; highly skilled in "thinking outside the box", having proven on numerous occasions that his actions are hard to predict; former Navy commander; loss of both parents at age eight had severe psychological effects; habits indicate a dependence on alcohol and the need to be active; defected in 2010 with fellow 00 agent Alec Trevelyan (006) and rumoured to still be travelling together; full medical record attached._

Q's fingers started up another staccato rhythm across the desks-top, but Q barely paid attention. His eyes were focused on the screen before him, and he was determinedly ignoring James Bond's mobile phone, which was once again sitting at his side.

The code was a work of art, it truly was; the type of virus that Q himself would write if M would allow it. But the second code? Oh, Q just _knew _that it would be that much better, that much cleaner and _perfect_. He truly wished that he could meet whoever had written it; it was genius.

Q scowled as he reached for the mobile, turning it over in his fingers. He'd been so _happy_, and now _this_! Bond was a bastard, he really was. He'd known, when Q had visited the previous night, that the younger man had yet to find the second programme; the one that protected only two files on the phone marked i5 and i6.

Q wasn't sure if the files contained information on MI5 and MI6, or if that's just what Bond wanted them to think. He honestly didn't care if the files contained the blueprints to destroy both organisations, or cake recipes. He just cared about the _codes_.

James fucking Bond, with his pretty eyes and kissable lips and sexy goddamn body. He was effecting Q more than anyone ever had. Q had learned how to cut himself off from people, from the world at large, when he was ten and realised that the other kids, the _adults_, would never see him as one of them. He would always be an outsider, so he acted like one. He didn't make friends. He stole and looked down on people. He kept to himself and did whatever the fuck he wanted for _himself_, because nobody else would ever care, and nobody else would ever help.

And James Bond just came in, shattering Q's shields and making him hunger for information, for company, for... _something_.

Q slammed his fist against his desk, and then again and again until his hand and arm throbbed painfully, until he was breathing hard and his glasses were askew. 'Fucking 007,' he muttered. He then sighed and stood. Q didn't believe in no-win scenarios, and he wasn't about to start now, not even when faced with a charming rogue agent who seemed to be able to crawl under Q's skin with ease. 'I'm better than that,' Q murmured.

He picked up the mobile once more before sending a quick email to Moneypenny. He knew that M was in her office, and if she said no- if she refused- Q would meet with Bond anyway. He _needed _to study the new programme.

{oOo}

Bond looked far too amused when Q sat on the table, mirroring his position from when they'd first spoken.

'Morning,' Bond said.

Q's eyes narrowed. Bond knew it was morning, _how_? Either he had a very good internal clock, or he knew how MI6 security worked in regards to prisoners. Only two meals were brought, one in the morning and one in the evening. But both meals were identical, how could Bond know exactly what was what?

'It's polite to return a greeting,' Bond said.

'Good morning,' Q near spat-out, and Bond raised an eyebrow. Q closed his eyes briefly, drew a breath and strength.

'It seems that I'm making you uncomfortable today,' Bond mused. 'Or... annoyed? Anxious? Horny?'

Q's eyes snapped open on the last word, and Bond offered a charming grin in response to Q's scowl.

'No?' Bond hummed. 'My mistake.'

'The code, Mr Bond,' Q said.

'I already gave it to you,' Bond replied.

'The code for files i5 and i6,' Q added.

'Ah,' Bond nodded, '_that _virus. Quite handy, isn't it? The hacker I got the phone from was rather intriguing.' He stood and walked towards Q, and then slid to sit in the corner, leaning half against the wall, half against the glass cutting the two men off from each other. He lowered his voice when he said, 'He's dead now. No need to wonder if that code will be used against MI6.'

Q was silent, pondering that. He wondered if Bond had killed the man himself after he'd got what he needed. Or if the hacker had met his end by another's hands. Hackers generally lived short lives, especially if they operated on the other side of the law.

'Unless you don't care about that,' Bond continued, voice still low.

Q raised an eyebrow. 'What makes you say that?'

'You're not like them,' Bond stated, like it was a fact that he knew to be true.

'Like who?'

'The rest of the techs who work here,' Bond said. 'I've met a few since you came to see me.'

Q frowned slightly. M had sent other technicians to speak with Bond? Why? What else had they taken from the agent that Q didn't know about? Or, in other words, what had they taken from Bond that M deemed too dangerous to give to Q?

'They believe in Queen and Country,' Bond said when Q failed to speak. 'Some of them have families, sure, and friends. But they're still here because they want to protect their country. Every agent is here for the same base reason. It's the same reason that I agreed to be an agent, the same reason Alec did, too.'

Alec Trevelyan, 006, the other agent who had defected with Bond, Q recalled. He hadn't been caught, and so far Bond hadn't given up the man's whereabouts. It was no doubt pissing M off.

'You,' Bond said after a slight pause, blue eyes seemingly darker than yesterday, 'you _aren't _MI6.' Q glanced up at him, face giving nothing away, not this time. How could Bond know with that much certainty? Nobody knew Q's origins until M told them, or someone else leaked the information, which they always did when new recruits tried to get friendly with Q. And while most people knew, everybody thought that Q was reformed; that he now believed in what he did, and wanted to _protect _Britain. M was the only one who still watched him like a hawk, like that at any minute Q would go rogue and disappear, leaving devastation in his wake.

And yet here Bond was, having met Q a grand total of two times for roughly twenty minutes, and he _knew_.

When Q looked back at Bond, the older man was smirking. 'You're the patriotic criminal,' Bond stated.

'How did you get away from MI6?' Q asked, changing the subject.

Bond raised his eyebrows. 'And why, dear Quartermaster, would you want to know that?'

'_How_?' Q demanded. Something inside him had snapped, his eyes now fierce, lips pressed thin. 'I know how you've _stayed away_, that isn't too difficult to accomplish. But how did you get far enough away to implement your plan?'

Bond looked far too amused for such a serious conversation. 'Need tips, Q?'

'Tell me!' Q shouted and stood. He slammed his fists against the plexiglass, the phone in his hand cracking, making his hand throb.

'You hate it here,' Bond said, now wearing a grin. He slowly stood to face Q, the extra inch in height he had on the younger man giving him added power. 'You want out. They've still got you on a leash and they always will. Tell me who you are, Q, and I'll tell you what you want to know.'

The red pad on the cell door started flashing, and the lights dimmed. Q swore.

'Tell me,' Bond echoed Q, but without the vehemence.

'I was a hacker,' Q stated quickly, 'they caught me. M offered me a deal; work for MI6, or go to prison.'

Bond grinned. 'And you don't want to work for MI6.'

'I never did,' Q said. 'But I can't get away cleanly enough to disappear.'

He was constantly monitored, an entire team of agents devoted to watching his every move. Inside MI6 it was security; outside it was a team armed with tranquillisers and tasers. They would subdue Q, but not kill him. MI6 needed him too badly; _M _needed him too badly.

It meant that Q didn't have enough time to escape- he couldn't slip M's tight hold on him. He wasn't really sure what he'd do _if _he managed to escape; hop a train to France? He'd need a fake passport, a clothing change and make over. But he had no idea how to go about getting everything he'd need for a new life while the entirety of MI6 hunted him.

Bond knew. Bond could help.

The door at the end of the room opened before Q or Bond could exchange another word, and four security guards stormed in, each marching toward Q.

Bond smiled softly. '999-open bracket-UVV2-minus-6.'

Q's arm was grabbed, another security guard pushing him away. 'There won't be a next time,' he said.

Bond inclined his head. 'Goodbye, Q.'

'007,' Q responded. And then he was dragged from the room, Bond's eyes on him the entire time.

{oOo}

Q was banned from interacting with the prisoner, and had been confined to MI6 for six weeks. Q wasn't surprised, and glared at M when she marched from his office, taking the security guards with her. Q had told Bond the truth about himself, about whey he was really at MI6. He'd expressed, on camera, that he didn't want to be there, that he wanted to escape. Q was only surprised that his privileges hadn't been revoked.

He still had access to all the programmes he'd had before his conversation with the former 007, and his security clearance still stood. That was M's mistake.

She didn't trust Q, and rightfully so. But she was old school, like Bond was. And that worked in the field, but not in this situation; not with someone of Q's background. M had grown complacent, she thought that Q couldn't escape like he'd told Bond.

But something had changed, something that M hadn't taken into account. Q now had access to 007, a man who _had _escaped MI6 successfully. And he'd do it again, if Q had anything to say about it.

He had to work quickly, in case M or someone else realised what he was planning. Q locked himself in his office, cutting off even R's override. Only M herself and Tanner could get in now, but Q didn't think that they'd be visiting. Tanner had never liked Q; had stated on repeated occasions, _loudly_, that Q couldn't be trusted as the Quartermaster. M should have listened to him.

Q smirked to himself and sat at his desk. He cracked his fingers before hunching over the computer, typing rapidly, pulling up programme after programme before dismissing them when he was done. He had a lot to do, and only a few short hours to do it in.

{oOo}

Q was fascinating. James didn't usually think that about... well, anyone. He'd met intelligent people; men and women excellent at their chosen profession, no matter what it was. But he'd never met anyone who truly _fascinated _him like the young Quartermaster did. Q had all the brains and skills one would expect in the head of Q-Branch, all wrapped up in a gorgeous, young package. Despite his good looks, it was his eyes that James liked the most. One minute they were frustrated, the next intrigued, and then _furious_. Those eyes hid depths that James had only begun to skim. An entire world, dark and dangerous, locked away in the young man's mind.

James wondered how old Q was; how old when he'd been picked up by MI6, and how old he was now. How many years had he been M's lapdog, forced to work for an organisation that had captured him, contained him? James didn't doubt that Q loved his work, but it was the restrictions that stunted Q's growth, that made him itch for something more. It was one of the many reasons James himself had finally defected. You were only useful to MI6 when you played by their rules. When you didn't, they didn't want to know about it. When you didn't they threw you to the wolves, and pretended that they'd never known just how far you were willing to go for Queen and Country.

_Good old Queen and Country_, James mused. M had used those words time and time again during his interrogations. As though they'd spark some form of patriotism in James and convince him to come back and give up Alec. James had long ago given up any love he had for MI6. He still loved England, and when he could he stopped would-be-terrorists from blowing up the country he'd spent most of his life in. But MI6? No, James didn't care for it in the slightest, not any more.

James wondered what Alec was doing. He should have realised by now that James had been caught, or killed, and put his feelers out. He might already know that James was in MI6's custody. He and James both had an extensive list of contacts in every country, England being no different. They had accumulated more since they'd gone rogue, and more than one had information on MI6.

James was under no illusions that Alec would stage a rescue mission. MI6 was too difficult to get into. If Alec _did _try and rescue James, it would be when he was moved. MI6 couldn't keep him forever, and James knew that a top-security prison was his next stop. He'd either escape from there, or Alec would come.

The former double-oh's thoughts once again drifted to Q. Sweet, adorable Q. What was he like under that hideous cardigan and those plaid trousers? Did he prefer men or women? Did he even have _time _for casual sex when MI6 was constantly breathing down his neck? Q wasn't the type to take a regular lover, nor have a steady relationship. His life was too dangerous, himself too different, to connect with someone for that long. He and James had that in common.

Which was why James found it odd that he wanted to learn more about the Quartermaster. And not just Q's exact history, which would definitely be a rich one, but what his quirks were, his personality, his habits. He wanted to know _everything_. James had never denied himself anything, not if he wanted it badly enough. And he wanted Q. It just remained to be seen what Q wanted.

The lights overhead suddenly dimmed, and James glanced up. They never went off, not even when James assumed that it was nightfall. They were always harsh, unchanging, there to remind James of where he was, _what _he was. M couldn't afford to leave James in the dark, not even for a moment. She'd seen what had happened the first time.

The lights flickered again before going out completely, and James sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bunk. He remained sitting, feet cold where they rested on the concrete floor, and waited in silence.

Suddenly everything was harshly bright once more, and James blinked rapidly to clear his sight. He turned swiftly when he heard a grunt, then another, followed by the sounds of two bodies hitting the floor. Eyebrows climbing, James stood and walked over to the glass wall that cut him off from the rest of the room.

He couldn't see the door from where he was, his cell was too far away, so he waited. He didn't have to for long; someone crept into view, moving light on their feet, and James' eyebrows shot right up in surprise.

Q was wearing the same clothes that he'd been in when James had last seen him, only his hair was messier, and there was a heavy black coat over his skinny frame. He had a large side bag thrown over one shoulder, a computer tablet under one arm, and a few electronics in the other.

Q grinned brightly when he saw James and shuffled about in one pocket, then the other, before withdrawing a plain white card with a thin black magnetic strip on one side. He crouched down to assemble _something_- a black box that he attached to his tablet, a string of wires- and then swiped the white keycard through a small slot in the box.

When he stood again, Q put his things away.

'What are you doing?' James asked.

'Watch,' Q said. James did, and narrowed his eyes when Q swiped the keypad attached to the door of James' cell. The lights flashed green, and with a soft _beep _the door swung open.

'How?' James demanded.

'I have access to everything even remotely digital in this building,' Q informed him. 'It was easy to hack into security and find out the various codes they were using for your cell. I also looped the security feed, and took the liberty of arranging an exit for us.'

James was silent. Q raised an eyebrow.

'Well?' the younger man queried.

'What do you get out of this?' James asked.

'You take me with you,' Q stated. 'Drop me anywhere you want; Germany, France, _wherever_. Just help me get away from MI6. It's the least you could do, right?'

James chuckled. 'Of course,' he said. He stepped out of the cell, stretching, finally feeling free after three days of containment. 'Shall we?' he asked, and gestured at the door.

Q nodded and pulled his bag from his shoulders. James walked over to the door and Q trailed after him, hands and head buried in his bag.

'What are you doing?' James asked.

'Looking for- _ah_, there it is!' And with that Q drew a handgun, a Sig Sauer 9mm P320. 'I know you prefer the Walther PPK, but I had a time limit,' Q said as he handed the gun to James. 'Also,' he hummed before drawing six magazines from his bag of tricks.

James raised his eyebrows, but accepted the magazines. Thankfully his prison garb had pockets, and he deposited three magazines in each before checking that the handgun had a full one. He drew the slide back, heard the satisfying click of a bullet being chambered, and stepped closer to the door.

'The guards beyond here?' he questioned when Q joined him.

'Unconscious due to a new tear gas Q-Branch may or may not be designing,' Q said.

James chuckled.

'It's all I could do,' Q added. 'I know where we need to go, and I have a car for us. It's up to you to get us to the garage and then away from here.'

'Is the garage still in the same place?' James asked, a mental layout of MI6 popping into his head.

'Yes,' Q nodded. 'The door's protected by a keycard and passcode, but I can hack both in five seconds.'

James laughed to himself, but didn't say anything. Q had left the door open just a crack, and James peered through. The hallway was empty, dimly lit, and James noted a soft haze hanging in the air.

'It's safe to breathe,' Q said, 'the gas' effects disappear rather quickly.'

'Good,' James said. With that he pushed the door open and slid through, Q on his heels.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

* * *

**Warnings: **Canon-typical violence

* * *

James kept his gun up as he walked, blue eyes flicking from left to right over and over again. He didn't look up at the cameras as he and Q passed through the first security check, then the second- or first, if you were coming in, James supposed.

The large metal and plastic door was hanging open, the two guards usually occupying the area slumped on the floor, as unconscious as the other two James and Q had passed. Q had done a good job, and James mentally gave him a pat on the back as they continued forward.

The hallway was long, seemingly never ending, and twisted to the left slightly. There was an elevator about halfway down but Q pushed James forward when the ex-agent stopped, and he also ignored the hallways that branched off to the left. Finally the lights began to grow softer, not trying to blind the occupants, and Q slowed.

'The garage used to be here,' James said, gesturing to the wall.

'It was re-designed two years ago,' Q replied. 'They added another basement room for Q-Branch that's on the same floor as the lower level of the garage.'

'What for?' James asked.

'I like playing with cars,' Q told him, and James smiled.

They continued forward for two and a half minutes before they finally came across a large metal door. The floor and walls had changed to a dark, stormy grey, and the ceiling overhead was metal, wires and other odds and ends running above their heads.

'That's Q-Branch,' Q said, pointing down the hallway. It was too long for James to see anything, but he believed the hacker.

'It used to be upstairs,' James said. 'I remember when we moved into this building; it occupied three levels on the west side.'

'I moved it,' Q said. He was reaching into his bag now, pulling out the same computer/box project that he'd used to get James out of his cell. He fed the card into the bulky keypad that sat on the garage door, but left it in, and started tapping quickly at the screen of his tablet.

'Why?' James asked.

'I like being underground,' Q murmured, eyes not leaving the screen. 'Plus I hated sharing R&D with the other departments. Q-Branch now has its own, as well as its own gun range that we use to test the weapons we've fiddled with. If something explodes down here, the walls, floors and ceilings are all reinforced, so no harm-'

He was cut off when the concrete above his head exploded, showering both men in dust. James grabbed Q's arm as another bullet whizzed overhead, but the younger man moved towards the door.

'Q!'

'I need the card!' Q snapped back. James growled and turned, firing off a few shots down the hallway. The three security guards who'd snuck up on them ducked back into another corridor, the one that led to a few storage rooms, Q had said.

'Where the hell did they came from?' James demanded, firing again. He hit the walls, the floors, but no guards until one was stupid enough to duck out of hiding. James hit him in the shoulder and he was flung back, slamming into the floor and rolling into view, blood seeping across his dark blue uniform. James shot twice more to keep the other guards back.

'Another elevator usually only used for maintenance and deliveries,' Q replied. He was stuffing his equipment back into his bag, head ducked and legs bent. At least the boy had _some _sense about him, James thought. 'They must have found the loop or M had me watched more closely than I assumed.'

One of the guards opened fire, covering another who rolled into the hallway, crouched with his gun raised steadily. James grabbed Q again, and this time the younger man let himself be dragged further down the corridor towards Q-Branch, James shooting to cover them. His clip ran dry just as the two disappeared down the slightly curved hallway, and almost immediately Q took off running, James trailing after him and re-loading his weapon.

'Why don't you have a gun?' he demanded.

'I don't like them,' Q sniffed.

'Can you even shoot?'

'Who do you think tests the weapons all double-ohs are sent into the field with?' Q demanded.

James had to laugh. Their escape had blown up rather quickly; it was a typical James Bond escape, in all honesty. His first defection from MI6 hadn't been without bloodshed, either.

'Where to now?' James asked. Q had slowed down and was slightly ahead of James, eyes narrowed as he checked each tunnel they passed, while James kept an eye on their rear.

'We have to get into the garage through another entrance,' Q said.

'Which will now be watched, seeing as how they knew where we were going,' James pointed out.

'Obviously,' Q drawled, 'but I know a route we can use.'

'Where?'

'Through Q-Branch,' Q said, 'come on.'

James picked up his pace, and Q did, too, the younger man easily keeping just ahead of the former double-oh as he led the way. The hallway continued to get lighter, walls and lights all signalling that they were entering a new area of the underground section. James had to wonder just how far Q-Branch extended; how much of it had Q changed since James had left?

'Are you sure we should head to Q-Branch?' James asked.

'It's my domain, so to speak,' Q replied, only slightly out of breath. He clearly wasn't used to regular physical exercise. 'I can hack anything in the department, and I know the entire place inside out, better than anyone else working in this building. Security will have a difficult time chasing us in the sewers.'

James almost tripped over his own feet. 'Sewers?' he demanded.

Q threw him a smirk. 'Not literally, 007, but it's what I call them.'

He gave no more information, and James didn't ask. He was curious, he could admit; it was James' job to get them out of MI6, but Q seemed to be doing a pretty good job of it himself.

The corridor finally widened, opened up into a larger hall that soon ended in a small, entrance-like room. There was a set of steel doors to their right- elevator, James assumed- a set of white double doors directly ahead of them, and a large, sliding steel door to their left, a small plaque that read "Q-Branch" set into the concrete to its left.

The keypad beneath the plaque was glowing red, but Q typed something in without the use of his little black box. The keypad beeped red, and then once more, before it finally glowed green and allowed Q access.

The Q-Branch technicians had all been herded into one corner, and there were two security guards waiting for them. James and Q were both quick to act, the younger man ducking beneath a dart that would have rendered him unconscious in seconds, and James forced into hand-to-hand combat when his first shot went wide, his attacker too close.

James couldn't afford to give Q any of his attention, and clenched his teeth as he wrenched the guard's arm up and back, snapping the bone and making him howl. He let the man go before grabbing his hair and slamming his knee into his head, breaking his nose and knocking the man out.

James dropped him and turned, ready to continue fighting, only to find that Q had somehow gotten the tranquilliser gun out of the guard's hands and turned it on the bigger man. The guard was on the floor, already unconscious, and Q was grinning, out of breath.

_Beautiful_, James thought, but quickly pushed it from his mind. _Not the time_.

'You won't get away with this!' a woman shouted rather shrilly, drawing James and Q's attention.

Q laughed darkly, and James fought back a shiver at the sound. Q really _was _full of surprises.

'I think you'll find that I already have,' Q answered. 'Step aside, R.'

The woman- R- shook her head and stepped closer to the narrow steel door that had been built into the far end of the room. To her right were the rest of Q's former underlings, all huddled together and watching the scene with fearful eyes. James ignored them all in favour of glancing around the room. Q-Branch hadn't had this many toys when James had been an agent.

'Step aside, R, or I _will _shoot you,' Q ordered.

'No,' the woman shook her head again.

'I can have Bond shoot you,' Q offered, glancing at the agent.

James didn't particularly _like _killing, but he did it all the time. It wasn't like he'd feel bad if he shot this woman; he needed to escape, and she was standing in his way. A casualty of war.

Before R could decide- or James could shoot her- Q smiled and said, 'Actually, I think _I_ will.' He raised the tranquilliser gun and fired once. The dart hit the woman in the neck and she took a step back, eyes wide and hand groping at the projectile. Q's smile turned into a smirk as he watched her stumble again, eyes fluttering, before she finally fell to the floor.

'Nice shot,' James commented.

'Thank you,' Q grinned. He glanced at the other techs. 'Anyone else feel like playing hero?' There were no responses. 'Good, you're all a bit smarter than I thought you were.'

'Did you always plan to escape?' one of the young men asked, staring at Q with neither anger or delight. He was just... curious, James thought.

'Yes,' Q answered. 'I'm a criminal, remember? Too set in my ways to ever really be MI6.' Q shifted his messenger bag higher up his shoulders and glanced at James. 'Come along, 007.'

His orders amused James, but he saw no reason not to obey them, so followed Q across the large, cold room. The techs made absolutely no move to stop them, or to alert anyone to their presence. James knew that as soon as he and Q stepped out of the room they would, but there wasn't anything he could do (unless he assassinated all of Q-Branch, that is).

James watched as Q entered yet more codes into another keypad, and wondered what M was thinking, giving such access to a man like the Quartermaster. He didn't doubt that Q could pick mechanical locks, too, but it would have made their escape a bit trickier. Making everything electronic was like _begging _Q to put his skills to good use and escape. The old woman really had lost her skills, James thought.

'After you,' Q said when the door had swung open, revealing an almost pitch-black little room. James' eyes soon found the narrow stairs leading down, and he looked at Q, raised an eyebrow, before entering. He took the steps carefully, not wanting to fall and break his neck, and heard Q follow after him. He'd soon closed the door and the two were thrown into darkness, forcing James to pause and let his eyes adjust. Q said nothing.

His eyes adjusted quickly, and James found that the stairs disappeared down below into the darkness. He took them slowly, each foot carefully placed on the next cold, hard step. Eventually he hit solid ground that was dank and dirty, grit cold and wet beneath his bare feet.

'Lovely,' James drawled when the distinct smell of mud and decay reached his nose; the "sewers", as Q liked to call it, really did smell the part, and was clearly abandoned, possibly only kept open as an escape route for Q-Branch.

'I spent my first year mapping out this entire area,' Q said from behind James. James turned and both their faces lit up when Q unlocked his tablet. He briefly showed James a map lit in blacks and blues, various lines labelled. 'Every night after work- when M and her little minions left me alone- I'd come down here and explore.'

'Where's this all go, then?' James asked, glancing around.

'Everywhere,' Q replied. 'The entire block has tunnels like this beneath it. Some are caved in, but there are numerous escape routes.'

'Why don't we use one of them instead of the garage?' James asked.

'I would have if I'd known that M would find out about our escape so quickly,' Q said. 'Now I'll make her _think _that that's what we're doing while we actually head back to the garage.'

James just blinked at him, and Q sighed before pushing past the older man, leading the way down the narrow tunnel.

'Some of these tunnels are monitored by MI6,' Q explained as they walked. 'They were all searched and set up with sensors while the building was being furnished for MI6's uses. However, as I'm sure you're aware of by now, there isn't anything electronic that I can't hack. I know what to do to keep us invisible down here, _or _make security think that we've gone a certain way. So while MI6 chases us further into London, we go to the garage.'

'Hmm,' James hummed, 'clever.'

'I've been known to be,' Q drawled, making the blonde chuckled.

They fell into silence, apart from the wet slap of James' feet, and the muffled footsteps of Q's shoes. There were also occasional beeps from Q's tablet, the boy glancing down at the screen, and then up, doing whatever it was he did to keep them from getting caught. Q stopped every now and then to consult his map or hack into a new programme, and though James was getting bored, he remained silent and let the boy work.

Soon the tunnels grew narrower, darker, dull lights no longer embedded in the walls every few feet. Q used the light from his tablet to lead the way and James stuck close, not wanting to lose the hacker down here. He'd end up lost or caught.

Suddenly Q stopped again and frowned at his tablet.

'What?' James asked.

'M's in the building and she's taking no chances,' Q muttered.

'What?' James repeated.

'I'm monitoring communications,' Q explained and showed James his tablet. The large screen was overflowing with letters and numbers that James couldn't even begin to comprehend, but he did see a small box in the bottom right corner, text constantly flowing across it. His eyes spotted a few security codes and call signs that he was familiar with, and he realised that Q was having everything sent to his tablet in text-format.

_Clever, clever boy, _James mused, but didn't voice it aloud. Instead, he asked, 'So what now?'

'M's having the garage watched, but there are two entrances that she doesn't know about. One of the tunnels down here leads into an old storage room that runs alongside the garage's air-conditioning. The other leads into a maintenance room... well, there's some crawling and climbing involved, but you should fit.'

He gave James a once over that was more critical than lustful, and James let a small pout overtake his face. He wasn't looking his best at the moment, he could admit, but that didn't mean that Q was allowed to just _ignore _his appeal.

Q rolled his eyes and set off again, taking a right quickly and forcing James to jog to catch up. They fell into silence once more, and James hummed various songs in his head to pass the time while keeping his eyes and ears open.

'Here,' Q said suddenly and stopped, almost causing James to crash into him. He was gesturing at what appeared to be a crack in the rough stone wall, but on closer inspection had once been a very narrow, very roughly cut door-frame.

'Here?' James echoed.

'Mm,' Q nodded. 'Another few feet and we can climb.

'Climb,' James sighed.

'Why are you repeating me?'

'It's fun,' James replied.

Q rolled his eyes once more and tucked his tablet into a pocket. They immediately fell into darkness, but James' eyes were quick to adjust, and he watched as Q scrambled his way through the hole in the wall. James had a more difficult time, being both taller and bulkier than Q, but with a little squirming- and some tugging on Q's part- he managed to slip through.

The room was little bigger than a closet, with a rotting wooden table pressed up against the wall closest to them. A short set of rusted stairs led to a hatch in the ceiling, and James followed Q up them, the boy once again using his tablet as a torch.

They stumbled into yet another room, and Q pushed them through a slightly larger doorway before he took a right, the hallway so narrow that it brushed both of James' shoulders. James wondered just who the hell had built these tunnels- and for what purpose- when Q stopped again.

'You've got muscles, 007,' Q hummed as he tapped away at his tablet.

'And?' James asked.

'Get cracking,' Q said and gestured at the stone wall beside them.

James blinked. Frowned. 'What?'

Q sighed and looked up at him, one index finger reaching up to slide his glasses back up his nose. 'This wall runs parallel to one in the garage's darker depths. It's worn stone, and the wall opposite is wood. We should be able to break through.'

'Okay,' James mused, 'and what am I _using _to break through these walls? Your tablet?'

Q gave him an absolutely foul look before tugging on his messenger bag. He reached in and shuffled about, muttering about useless double-ohs the entire time. James was more amused than offended, and watched curiously as Q pulled a _crow bar _from his bag.

'And where did you get that?' James asked.

'Wouldn't you like to know,' Q retorted.

James chuckled and tucked his gun into the waistband of his trousers before taking the crow bar. He made sure to touch Q's fingers as he did, and the boy scowled at him, but it was too dark to see if he blushed. Q took a few steps back, the glow of his tablet only just enough to light James' way, and James got to work.

'So-' he grunted after his first few swings, the stone crumbling and cracking beneath his blows, '- just what the hell... did you think... we'd need a crow bar... for?'

'Something like this,' Q replied. 'I like being prepared.'

'And why is one... of the garage walls... wood?' James asked as he swung again and again.

'Private parking for the department heads,' Q told him. 'Nice wooden walls, personal parking bays, and personal car washes if you're so inclined.'

'You _must _be joking,' James laughed.

'Why _must _I be?' Q asked.

'It just... seems over the top... even for MI6,' James replied. There was a large crack, followed by part of the wall giving way. James had to jump back to avoid getting his feet crushed, and Q stepped over the rubble to inspect the hole.

'A little more, 007,' he said.

James smirked. 'You like ordering me around.'

'It's my job.'

'Not anymore,' James hummed.

'True,' Q agreed.

The two men went silent as James picked up his pace, slamming the crow bar into the wall over and over again, using the curved end to tug loosened stone from the wall. Dust soon filled the enclosed space, and Q and James both coughed and waved their hands about to try and clear the air, but it was no good. James just decided to go faster, and soon was cracking through wood rather than stone.

'That's it, 007!' Q near-shouted, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He looked like an over-excited child, but once again James kept that thought to himself. He didn't want Q deciding that he was better off alone and abandoning James here. James wasn't sure he could get past security by himself.

Q helped James remove the last of the stone and wood, creating a hole barely big enough for Q to squeeze through, let alone James. The boy somehow managed to bend himself through, and James nearly fell over his own feet at the images suddenly spearing through his brain.

_Not the time, Bond! _he told himself and followed Q through. Like last time there was a lot of shoving and squirming and swearing, and James ripped open his shirt and skin in numerous places. He got through, though, and that was all that mattered.

'Where now?' James panted as he stood tall. He was covered in dust and dirt, debris sticking to his sweaty skin and making him feel gritty and in desperate need of a shower. It wasn't anything that James wasn't used to, though, and Q seemed to find it entertaining.

'Through here,' Q said and James followed along like a good little soldier, gun back out and cocked.

Q easily bypassed the security of the private parking area and was soon leading James through the garage proper. It was just how James remembered it; large and grey, pillars painted different colours to designate different areas. There were cars all around them but Q didn't seem inclined to pick one. James knew all about the security measures in cars these days, and didn't doubt that MI6 would be able to track them if James decided to steal some random car. Q obviously had a plan, if his near-march and serious expression were anything to go by.

They'd just hurried up one of the ramps to an upper level when a siren suddenly went off, near deafening them and causing Q to stumble, a hand clapped over one ear.

'Q!' James shouted.

'Most of them are following my red herring!' Q replied over the ear-shattering noise. 'Either they've changed a few of the security measures in case I hacked them, or M's just being cautious. Either way, they don't know exactly where we are, but they'll be locking down the garage completely! Hurry!'

James didn't need to be told twice, and he easily matched Q's pace as the hacker led them up, and then down past cars of all shapes and designs, each one practically screaming at James to break into. There were red lights flashing blindingly around almost every corner, and James gritted his teeth against the sound of the alarm. He'd definitely be leaving with a headache.

'Here!' Q suddenly shouted, coming to a stop beside a car.

The blonde glanced at it. 'Really?' he demanded.

'You have a problem with BMWs?' Q asked.

'_Yes_,' James grunted. Aston Martin, now _they _made good cars. James had one in England, one in France, and one in America. But a BMW?

He sighed and looked over the car. He supposed that it wasn't _too _awful, but it was still _really _bad. It was a BMW i8 painted black with blue highlights. The doors were dihedral, and the bloody thing ran on _electricity_. It wasn't a car, it was a toy.

Okay, so it was really, _really _bad.

'I really didn't have time to pick a car that would suit you,' Q finally snapped. 'I was supposed to assign this to 003 two hours ago, but I sent him in a different one. When MI6 come after us, they might think that we have 003's car, so they'll follow _him_. He's driving to France, which is where they think _we'll _be going. So we have long enough to get out, ditch the car, and disappear.'

James sighed but held a hand out, and Q tossed him the keys. James opened the doors, which slid up, and was about to climb into the car when a shot rang out, quickly followed by Q shouting in pain.

James' head snapped up just in time to see Q clutching at his chest, blood seeping from beneath a tear in the thick black fabric. He gasped, face pale, and glanced at James before sliding against the car and out of sight.

'Q?' James shouted. More shots rang out and James opened fire himself, gun up and pointed in the direction of the gunshots. He heard a scream, followed by a thump, and then the return fire stopped. 'Q!' James shouted again, but there was no answer. James hurried around the car, images of a dead Q, eyes wide and glassy, searing through his mind.

Q was slumped against the car, head bowed and hand clutched at his shoulder. He wasn't moving, and fear like James hadn't felt in _years _grasped his heart. James dropped to his knees.

'Q!'


End file.
